


This Works For Me

by MoonRenegade



Series: Try It Sometime [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Anxiety, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Social Anxiety, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-06-24 02:27:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19714435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRenegade/pseuds/MoonRenegade
Summary: Dnp meet on a residential trip to a university and instantly hit it off. But is it just platonic? Or is there love between the pair?(an au where dnp are teens)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just to note: anxiety is mentioned briefly and the protagonist does have anxious thoughts throughout, so don't read this if it's triggering for you. 😊

My phone buzzes twice: a text. Immediately, it's in my hand and my breath is short. Is it him??

My heart and stomach drop to my feet with disappointment when I see it's just my network texting about this month's bill. I swipe away the notification.

This is fine, I tell myself. I don't like him that much anyway. I mean - I don't like him like that. It's just my social anxiety again.

But. Why hasn't he texted? Am I not good enough? Interesting enough? Funny enough? Pretty enough? Enough???

I quickly shake my head, as if that'll clear it like an etch a sketch, and repress it. This is fine.

Taking a breath, I push myself off the wall and start walking: a bus that's thirty minutes late probably isn't going to show up. My mind, of course, starts to wander.

Naturally, it goes straight to the boy who'd managed to capture it's interest in under 36 hours of knowing him. I had practically memorised the pattern of his blue and red flannel, and how it feels to "accidentally" brush against it, in those 36 hours.

I wonder what it would feel like to just casually thread his fingers through mine, and how he would have reacted, had I had the courage to do so. My chest clenches at the thought of it. I _could've_ done that, but I didn't.

Suddenly stopping in my tracks, I realise exactly where I am. We're not, I'm not, in Cambridge anymore. I don't know anything about this guy except his name, his school and some random trivia he'd told me. I don't know his phone number, his @s, his _last name_ , for God's sake!

He quite simply hadn't told me.

Did he not want -

Maybe I'd completely misread everything?

*

7:39AM my phone told me.

We'd been early, so Mum had taken me to a coffee shop nearby to pass the time. I ordered a hot chocolate, of course, and checked my social media using the free WiFi inside the store.

Now, jazzed on caffeine, I was waiting in the agreed meeting spot, a car park, for my fellow classmates and the coach.

Some other students, all from other schools, had already gathered there; I couldn't help feeling self conscious as I glanced around seeing if I recognised any of them.

"Is anyone here from your school?" Mum asked.

"I don't think so." I said, shaking my head. "But we've still got a few minutes until the coach is meant to be here."

"Hm."

I continued to glance around anyway, just in case. One person caught my eye, but I looked away quickly when I realised that they had seen me looking at them. I made a point of not looking at them again and instead focused on the graffiti on the wall.

I chuckled lightly at the classic "dad?" exchange that seemed to appear everywhere around this town.

Before long, a small blue-black car drove into the car park and, like that of a clown act, three out of the other five students tumbled out with their various luggage pieces. Another sort of just,... Appeared? The final one came in another car and was greeted accordingly.

I made no effort to join them, simply pointed them out to Mum and watched them, for some reason, gravitate towards where I was standing on the pavement. Politely, I smiled and waved, and learned the names of the two I didn't know. The one I talked to, Amin, apparently already knew my name: clearly, my reputation as "the bi kid" preceded me.

After a few minutes of awkward polite conversation, the coach finally rolled up and we loaded in our luggage. Waving to Mum, I stepped onto the coach, picked an empty seat and dumped my bags down.

Unsurprisingly, there was not nearly enough leg room. This was not helped by the fact that our teacher decided that I was the "pity student", and sat next to me. I plugged my headphones in and simply stared out of the window, hoping the five hours will just pass quickly already.


	2. Chapter 2

A week had passed since the trip, and I was starting to feel quite hopeless on the prospect of him texting me. "After the trip ends", he'd said. Surely a week afterwards warrants the label "after", right? 

I sigh. He's never going to text, is he?

_It's because you were too much_ , whispers the toxic little voice in my head, _He could see exactly how you have literally no experience and what a_ burden _you are_. 

An elbow prods my stomach, bringing my mind crashing back into the lesson. It is at this point that I realise that everyone had turned to look at me, including Mr Robertson, the teacher. On the board, a paragraph with the instruction to "[translate into English]". 

"Start on the second line, if you wouldn't mind." Mr Robertson says with a raised eyebrow. 

There are a few scattered sniggers in the few centuries in which I simply stare at him, then the board, then him again. 

"Any day now, young man." his voice was starting to do that thing where it seems to fray at the edges the angrier he gets. 

More sniggering. I can feel my face go a bright red with embarrassment; I instead force my brain to focus instead on the words. 

"Last…" of course, that is when my voice decides to crack. 

The room erupts with laughter. Even Mr Robertson cracks a smile at my misfortune. I glance over at Sahill, my best friend, and elbower of stomachs, who is barely managing to conceal a smile behind his fist. My blush deepens, my heart pounds, my breath starts to come in short bursts. 

_Run run run run_ , the voice in my head screams, _run run run run away from here. Now now now now run run run-_

Instead, I sink into my seat and, once the laughter has died down, let Sahill take over the translation instead, unable to trust my voice not to crack again. 

"Last week I went to… ," Sahill had always been better at languages anyway. 

"... A school but got lost… ," To be honest, he was better at me at most things. 

"... On the way to dinner I met…" Take the girl in front of us for example. 

"... A tall person with black hair and blue eyes… " She was probably one of his so called fan club or harem. 

"... Was very nice and showed…" So many of girls are obsessed with him. 

"... Me the way. We ate…" Many of the guys too, the lucky bastard. 

"... Meat, salad and chips with too much ketchup. " Who let this guy be so perfect? 

*

Frick. What time is it?? Frick Frick frick-

"Amin!!" No response. I banged on his door a couple more times. "Amin, hurry up, we're late for dinner!" 

"F*ck." a muffled voice said from inside. 

"C'mon, c'mon, we gotta go-" Amin emerged from his door, and we both scrambled over one another to get down the three flights of stairs. We had been late getting into our 'stairwell' as it was, no one had shown us the way, so this definitely wasn't helping. 

As we burst through the doors, I breathed a sigh if relief when I saw an ambassador and two other students: maybe we're not late after all. 

"Yes, but you've got to admit the Remainers have a point." argued one to the other. It was the tall one who I'd accidentally made eye contact with earlier. I couldn't help but notice his blue and red flannel with a smile. 

The other, somehow even taller than the first one, simply nodded. "Sure."

Checking her watch, the ambassador looks at us questioningly. "Was there anyone else in your stairwell?" 

Amin and I shared a glance. "I don't think so…" 

The ambassador, whose name was Lucy, nodded; she seemed pretty nervous, for some reason. "Okay. We might as well head along then?" 

We walked to a larger courtyard where a few other groups had gathered. I looked around for the other people from our school, to no avail. Glancing quickly to Amin, who shook his head, I started to feel the panic rise in me. Where were they? 

The other two also seemed to have trouble finding their schools, so, trying to be polite, I decided to start a conversation with them and force down my panic. 

"I like your flannel, by the way." I said to the one I'd made eye contact with earlier. 

They stared at me blankly. "Sorry, I couldn't… What did you say?" 

"I said I like your flannel, by the way." this time a little, a tiny bit, louder.

"Oh!" they smiled at me. Of course my heart didn't skip a beat what are you talking about. 

We exchanged names and chatted for a while. I made a LGBTQ+ joke, they laughed. Perhaps they, too, are gay? I don't know. All I knew was that he sat next to me at dinner because "there was no space" where his group was sitting, and I didn't mind in the slightest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far! I kinda love writing this, so maybe I'll actually finish a story for once? 😅  
> -MoonRenegade


	3. Chapter 3

It's my city's pride festival this weekend, so I went after work to meet Sahill during the march. After a while of struggling to find him, he told me to meet him in the Health and Wellbeing tent (he was trying to get a gummy sperm keyring from the chlamydia stand even though he was underage to be tested for chlamydia and thus too young to get freebies from doing so.)

I made my way over there, passing by a handful of stalls, all with huge clusters of people surrounding it. I quickly stop by an emptier looking one and ask if I can take a toffee. The person asks if I can fill in a small a5 card with the title "my hopes for the LGBTQ+ community" first. Obviously, I pick up the pen they offered and start to write. Unsure of what to write, I glance around the table to see what other people had written. 

Most of it was pretty generic, "inclusion" and "acceptance" and shiz, but one catches my eye. It brings me immediately back to the university trip and watching _him_ quickly scribble down answers to a feedback form. It's his handwriting. 

"To love and be loved free of judgement :)" the card says simply. 

My heart pounds, I hurriedly scribble some nonsense onto my card and rush out of the tent, hoping against all hope that he had worn his blue and red flannel and that he was in sight. 

  


A hand rests on my shoulder, I whirl around. _Is it him-?_

It's just Sahill, asking if I was okay. 

For the rest of the day, my mind wanders, too caught up in thinking about him to actually throw myself into celebrating being queer.

*

After dinner, we had structured social time, which apparently consisted of us splitting into our groups from earlier that day. I had been with these people for a few hours in the day, but I didn't really know any of their names, so it was kind of a relief to have Amin in my group, even if _he who I do not like_ is in another group. 

The campest of the ambassadors stood up onto the raised platform next to the stairs leading down from the outdoors area of the cafe clutching a small stack of stapled together papers and started to read aloud from them. 

"One person from each group needs to get some marshmallows and spaghetti." he said, gesturing to two other ambassadors who were struggling to open a multipack of giant marshmallows and several bags of uncooked spaghetti. "And bring it back to the group. You may do that now."

We all shared a glance. With some strange courage, I stood up. "I'll go get them." 

Before anyone can protest, I'm off, walking towards the ambassadors. I glance over at the other groups and see that he hadn't volunteered for his group. My stomach twisted, but I don't know why. Quickly shaking my head, I threw myself into the game. 

Although my group was the arts group, the challenge of "building the tallest pyramid out of uncooked spaghetti and marshmallows" stumped us. Or rather, it appears our plan of "there's no plan just go for it" wasn't working. But eventually, after lots of screaming, spying on other teams and preventing sabotage from other teams, our ten minutes was up, and we stepped back to look at the atrocity we had collectively created. 

"Well," I said. "At least it's creative?" 

"Yep, that we can say for sure." one of the guys in my group laughed. 

We dispersed and were told to wait while they measured the height of each 'pyramid'. I saw the blue and red flannel with a smile and walked over. 

"Hey." I said, letting my arm gently brush his. "Which one's yours?" 

"Hi." he smiled, "That one."

He gestured to a neat, symmetrical pyramid not far from where my group had been working. It was what you would expect a textbook diagram to be like: each triangular side was broken up into perfect, identical smaller triangles and the marshmallows binding them together were equal in size and equidistant to each other. It was also probably one of the tallest. 

"Which one's yours?" he asked. 

"You see the mess in the corner, there?" I laughed. "That one." 

Ours, in comparison _was_ , in fact, a mess. We had stabbed and buried the spaghetti into the ground and the entire thing looked like it would fall at any second. If you had taken the perfect one nearby, duplicated it, then exploded, stamped on and set fire to that, you would have come close to what my group had created. But, somehow, we may actually be in the running for maybe third or fourth. 

I looked up and the sun was starting to set behind the huge trees in the courtyard. The sky looked like it was on fire, and some people were taking pictures of it, so I did too. It was starting to get cold, though, and I couldn't help shivering a few times, but tried to hide it so he wouldn't see. When the results were announced, our elbows were just about touching. 

Two of the others from my school, Daniel, and Charlie, came bounding over, and loudly yelled at us that Michelle' s, the third from my school, group had won second place and that we were free to do whatever we wanted to do. For some reason, we all started walking together, so I tried to stick as close as I could to him. 

Looking back over my shoulder, I laughed. The boy who'd laughed at my comment was getting uncooked pasta and marshmallows thrown at him by another girl in our group. This, of course, triggered a rather small, but no less hilarious food war wherein people chased one another with fistfuls of pasta. 

We, as a group, chatted idly for a while, before Amin, Michelle, Daniel, and Charlie decided to go somewhere else. I wasn't really listening to what they had said as I was too focused on the fact that I was now alone with him. 

We didn't really go anywhere after that: just kind of wandered around, talking. We talked about everything and nothing, and it was the best thing in the world. 

"-And he kept kinda bugging me so I told him, again, that we'd both agreed that long distance friendships don't work." 

"Hey, um, sorry," I started, a bit nervous, "Can I get your number?" 

"Of course!" he beamed. "I've got to warn you though, my phone sometimes doesn't send stuff very well."

"So it's a tantrumy toddler of a phone?" I laughed. 

"Yep!"

Up ahead, I see his teacher becoming us over, and my stomach dropped. _Are we in trouble??_

We're told that we're going to be late for the announcements, so we need to get back to the courtyard _now_. We do so, and sit, separately, in our school groups. 

"Where were you?" Michelle asked after my teacher was done grilling me and telling me not to wander off. 

"Just the bathroom." I said, it's what he had told his teacher and I had told mine, so might as well stick with it. 

"We had expected you to come here drunk." laughed Daniel. 

"What, like wine glass in hand, stumbling over the steps?" 

They laughed, so I smiled, and tried not to look over at him. I failed. He didn't seem to be particularly engaged in the conversation around him, just pulling at the grass and occasionally looking up when others laughed. I wished I could get him to smile: his smile is beautiful.

After they gave us the announcements about the next morning, we get up in groups and go back to our stairwells to go to sleep. I hoped to talk to him again, but he was gone before I could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the pride scene being so short: the Stuctured Social Time scene is so long that I didn't want to over do it...  
> Anyway, thank you for reading so far! 😊  
> -MoonRenegade


	4. Chapter 4

"The aim of the game is to knock off other people's coins, but keep yours on your hand. You have two lives before you're out." 

It was the drama group I go to sometimes and we were playing a game. Somehow, I had survived for so long: there was only two other people left. One, Jake, who I'd made an alliance with, and another whose name I couldn't remember. 

"Did you go on the Cambridge trip?" she asks suddenly. 

"I did, yeah." I reply, quickly whirling around to avoid her arm trying to knock my coin off. "Did you?" 

"I was in your group!" 

I can't really remember her, but her face is kind of familiar. Maybe she goes to the same school as him? 

"Oohh," Mike, the instructor for the day, intones . "Are we seeing a new alliance form?" 

"No," I tell him and Jake. "You're not."

Still, I smile at the girl and give her a high five, her name and face immediately disappearing from my mind as soon as she is eliminated and is replaced by _his_ face instead. 

After Jake and I succeeded in taking the girl down, we put aside our alliance for a moo off. We both kneel as the rest of the drama group surround us in a circle. 

"Moo off, moo off, moo off," they chant. 

Once we've both locked eyes and acknowledged that we're ready, we start to moo. I slowly approach Jake, mooing as I do so, remembering a tactic from a previous moo off. Jake also moves closer, but starts to back off as I get increasingly closer. 

I can just about see Jake starting to break when I can no longer hold back a smile. Jake stops mooing and points at my face, victory shining on his face. 

I smile, and try not to think about what _he_ could be doing right now. 

*

"Hey-" 

His door closed before I could talk to him, sealing him behind it. My heart sank. 

After the lights out had been called and the teachers made sure we were in our own rooms, I tore a page out of my notepad and grabbed a pen. I tapped the pen a few times on the paper, trying to think of the best way to convey the message I wanted to tell. 

I groaned in frustration and grabbed my phone. Scrolling down my contacts, I found Sahill's and quickly DMed him for advice. 

"just say something like 'hey, I didn't get your number earlier, so here's mine. Text me so I can get yours?'" he DMed. 

In my neatest handwriting, I wrote down Sahill's 'template', of sorts, making sure to personalise it a little bit. Before I fold it to write his name, I paused, and added a smiley face to the end of note. 

"go get her, man!" Sahill dmed. I grimaced, but don't bother correcting him in my "thank you" before I sneaked out the door and down the stairs. On the stairs, I freaked out. 

I'd never done something like this before. What ifs whirled around my head and urged me to return to my room before I make a huge mistake. Tears started to well up and my vision wobbles; my breath did its best impression of a prehistoric and janky car starting up; my throat felt like it had a rock stuck in it. Sitting down on the stairs, note clenched tightly in my hand, a mixture of excitement and anxiety and nerves churning, battling in my stomach, I wondered whether or not it was such a good idea. 

I took a deep breath. I'm not letting anxiety win. 

I knocked on the door, and heard a familiar voice ask who it was. I said nothing, my throat still had a rock lodged in it, simply slipped the note under the door and ran, heart like a tightly coiled spring in my chest, ached and tried to burst out. 

Back in the room, I collapsed against the back of the door and finally let the anxiety crash over me, too tired to care anymore.

It asked if I got the wrong door, if he was offended by my atrocious handwriting and spelling (although good grades in English would say contrary), if he actually hated me but was too polite to say so.

That night, I had to restrain myself from checking my phone to see if he had texted.

He never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, now we're in the second half of the story...  
> Now seems to be the right time to ask: do you peeps want an Epilogue or should I leave it to your imagination? Let me know! 😊 
> 
> Also, sorry this chapter seems really short: I had to do some last minute rearranging of chapters, sooo... Yeah. Sorry. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this so far! 😊   
> \- MoonRenegade


	5. Chapter 5

The white envelope, my neatly typed name visible through the plastic window, burns into thin lines in my palms. Glancing quickly around me, I see a few mixed reactions. Miss Johnson was talking to a student, tears streaming down his face. Out of relief or disappointment or fear, it was unclear. Sahill seems to be happy enough, exchanging grades and opinions with a couple other nerdy guys in our year. George was simply nowhere to be seen, and Dylan… Well, I hadn't talked to Dylan in a while. 

"Now remember, this isn't 'just mocks.' " Mr Richards uses the freaking air quotes to make a point while talking to a student nearby. "They're there to help you prepare for the real ones, so take them seriously. They will also be deciding a lot for your future here in the next year, as your real exams would for your future." 

I shove my envelope into my bag, determined not to let it ruin anything else. If I can't see what it contains, it can't disappoint my family, my teachers, my friends, anyone. Instead, I distract myself with the task of seeking out my friends to see how they did, and if they were okay. Sahill, being already in my field of vision, was the first person I approached, making sure to avoid making eye contact with Carl and his goons, even if they can't do anything too serious with this many teachers around. 

Sahill did fine. Great, actually. All nines except and eight in Maths and a three in Music, but apparently that was data from the beginning of the year, when they knew nothing, as there was no time for a music exam. As cruel as it sounds, it makes me happy, just a little bit, that he isn't as perfectly perfect as I expected. The nerds around him also got something similar. I paint a smile on my face and go through the actions of congratulating each of them, all while thinking _What's_ he _doing now? What did_ he _get?_

George, obviously, was the next call of action. He is a bit more difficult to find, but I eventually spot him in the corner with Felix, Theo and Olivia after ducking, squeezing and apologising my way through a corridor filled with Year 10s, all clutching their envelopes or waiting to receive theirs from their teachers. George, king of casualness, leans against the wall listening to the other three talk. 

"Hey, Georgie!" 'Georgie' was a nickname I had given him because he shared a name with George from Of Mice and Men, which we read in English. He gave me the nickname Lenny to get back at me. "How'd you do?" 

"Lenny, buddy!" he slaps me across the head with his planner. "Guess what? Five fours and a handful of sixes!" 

"That's great! Well done." 

"It's not great, but sure." he laughs at me.

"It is. Anyway," I turn to Olivia and Theo, who were making out. I glance away, and wait for a brief moment for them to finish. "What did you two get?" 

After talking to others about grades and mocks, occasionally explaining briefly that I hadn't opened mine yet to those who were polite enough to ask what I had gotten, a silent command to _be quiet_ rustled through the crowd. 

"Lovely." Mr Richardson comments on the brief moment of silence. "You've all now received your results, and I hope you remember what I've been saying for the past year: you get what you deserve. Now for some-" 

"Twat!" yells a disembodied voice from the crowd that sounds awfully familiar to Debbie's. 

A laugh ripples through the crowd and I see Jackie glance to me out of the corner of my eye. Mr Richardson glares everyone into silence again. 

"Now for some," he starts again, "you worked hard and got the high grades you deserved, while for _some,_ you didn't revise enough, and got lower grades. Bear this in mind in the lead up to your next mocks and for your real exams."

I tune him out, and instead think back to form, when our form teacher had given us the mock exam pep talk. 

"I don't think anyone has said this to you yet," she had said, sitting on her desk, feet perched neatly on her chair. "but these mocks are just mocks. They're numbers to see how you guys are doing and whether or not we need to reteach you something." For some reason, those words were comforting, unlike Mr Richardson's the ones. 

"You can go home now." Mr Richardson's voice disrupts my thoughts. Hoards of students all crowded for the two doors at each end of the corridor both leading to the freedom of fresh air and sunshine, sweeping me away with them. 

Laughing, I reach out for friends as I pass them, unable to utter more than a "see you later" before being carried away from them in the crowd. 

It's only when I get halfway to my bus stop when I realise that I had left my umbrella in the library. Sighing, I turn around and duck, squeeze and apologise my way through yet another crowd. Difficulty level 2, as this one was collectively moving in the opposite direction. 

*

The next morning, we all met outside of our stairwell at the arranged time. I made sure to be a bit early as I didn't want to be told off again: I had sort of over analysed this when I had been unable to sleep the night before, I was hoping _he_ would text me. 

The door to our stairwell swung open, and I can't help turning to look to see if it was _him_. It wasn't: it was just Amin and most of the other kids from my school. They started talking about some hijinks they got up to after lights out; apparently they had snuck out and sat on the horse sculpture that we had been told we're not allowed to touch. 

I wasn't really listening, partly because I was too busy not thinking about _him_ and partly because I felt a little bit left out not to have been invited to join them on their adventures. 

My thoughts are interrupted by _him_ walking through the door, sleep evidently still clinging to his eyes and hair a bird's nest on his head. He saw me and simply smiled awkwardly; he made no attempt at a conversation. 

I tried to pay it no mind and simply got on with that morning's preparations. Our teacher still had issues with me, however. They asked me if I had gone the way that everyone else had. I knew immediately that something was wrong. 

I told them I couldn't remember, despite the pictures on my camera roll of a certain tree and building protesting otherwise. Luckily, Daniel stepped in, saying he had seen me from his window coming the way everyone else had. 

I shot him a thankful look, and our teacher finally, _finally_ , stopped asking me questions and instead told me to simply stick with the group. 

When we put away our bags not long after that, I said good morning to _him_ and tried to make small talk, all while avoiding the topic weighing most on my mind: the note. 

For some reason, when we all went to get breakfast, he seemed to avoid being near me. He was always a little out of reach, a couple steps ahead in the queue, far away enough not to hear me. 

Regardless, during breakfast, our eyes were constantly meeting, and he almost always was smiling when I looked back a couple seconds later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could've fleshed out the library scene a bit more, but the mocks scene was sooooo loooonnngggg that it would've been too much.
> 
> Anyway, as we're two or three chapters away from the end of the story, what do you think will happen? 
> 
> Thank you for reading so far! 😊
> 
> \- MoonRenegade


	6. Chapter 6

Eventually, I manage to get to the door leading inside and step through. The corridor is mostly empty now: almost everyone ran to get the highly coveted first bus. I don't really understand the appeal, the first bus is always cramped and too hot and the seats are inexplicably damp. 

Getting to the library is a breeze as the corridors had all but cleared. Hurriedly, I scramble beneath the front desk and grab the umbrella I had left there this morning when I was working. From the backroom, I hear the kettle being turned on. 

I pay it no mind: it's probably just one of the IT teachers, they don't have a tap or a kettle in their office. I had just straightened up when I hear a cough behind me. 

F*ck. It's him. 

"Hi, Carl." I say, trying to keep a neutral tone. "What are you doing here? The library's closed." 

"Came here to get tea. But now that you're here, maybe we can have some fun." he sneers and puts down his mug. 

"No, come on, I need to-" he punches my stomach before I can finish my sentence. 

I double over in pain, and he whacks my shoulder, causing my knees to collapse and my body to greet the new grey carpet: it had been installed a few weeks ago and all the library assistants had been warned not to damage it or spill anything on it. 

Technically, when Carl kicked my nose and caused it to bleed, I was listening to the caution as I myself hadn't caused the spillage. It also wasn't my fault that when Carl spat on me the first time, it missed and hit the carpet instead. 

"You like that, bum boy?" he mutters, finally tired of beating the sh*t out of me. 

I say nothing, simply lying there, motionless. 

He grunts, and waddles off to find his friends. 

Slowly, and with a lot of groaning, I pick myself up and go to the back room, where the sink is, and start to tidy myself up a bit. I could get most of the blood off of my face, but my shirt was a lost cause. The pain had subsided to a vague throbbing and aching by now. Grabbing a rag, I make my way over to the blood smears on the carpet and try my best to clean it up. 

It's not really working, and I'll miss my bus if I don't hurry, so I end up giving up. I hurriedly scribble down a note for the librarian, saying I had, like the idiot I am, walked into a bookshelf and had to go to Wellbeing. Hopefully it's enough to let me off the hook about the bloody carpet. 

Closing the door behind me, I decide to make my way to the bus stop through the back of the school, to be on the safe side as the convenience store was on the main road, with my umbrella in hand. 

*

We had been on the coach for about two hours when we stopped at a motorway service station. My school's group had all gathered together, now caffeinated, bladders emptied and legs stretched, in the "cafeteria" kind of area in the service station. He came with us too? I don't really know why, but who cares? I certainly don't. 

We were all waiting for Amin to get his food, so we were all, excluding Amin and Michelle, standing to one side and out of the way. 

"Hi." I smiled at him. 

"Hi." he replied. 

This was kinda awkward, as breakfast had been, and anxiety was starting to rear its head. 

I push the feeling down, determined to do this. 

"Hey, um," Great start. "I never really got your number…?" 

"Oh, yeah, I was going to text you after the trip was over. Yknow, I prefer talking when I have the opportunity to do… That." He laughs awkwardly. 

"As long as it's not phone calls."

"God, no, those are the worst."

We chatted idly for a while until Amin got his food, and we as a group went to sit down at a table. The others started talking about mocks and results predictions and school in general. I was listening, but not really taking part. It was a bit distracting when he sat next to me: it's as if he's hijacked my mind and all I can think about is him, him, him.

Michelle, who had gone to get some food as well as coffee, came over, carrying her McDonald's paper bag. I gently tapped his foot to let him know that Michelle was behind him and was struggling to pull out a chair to sit down. He hurriedly apologised and excused himself to go to the bathroom. 

I waved briefly and just continued listening to the other's conversation. Eventually, I couldn't take it any longer, it had been far too long, so I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I was in a far different place than I had been less than thirty six hours ago. 

Then, I was utterly miserable. I was alone and extremely anxious about being away from my friends and support network. It's hard to imagine now: I had hidden in the bathroom and nearly cried then… But. That's one of the first few times I saw him, so I guess you could say things started looking up at around about that point. 

Anyway. I couldn't find him in the bathroom, although I didn't try very hard (it was too awkward to call out his name.), so I returned to the group, hoping to see him later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to the end... I'll be sad to see this story go.  
> Anyway, thank you for reading so far! 😊   
> -MoonRenegade


	7. Chapter 7

I'm walking along the path at the back of the school when I see someone up ahead. I can't tell if it's Carl or one of his goonies or just some random kid, but just in case I hide behind one of the walls so they can't see me. 

For some reason, I hear a quiet sniff, like the person was crying. I peep around the corner to see Dylan, hunched over and apparently crying. I step out, concern for one of my friends overriding any awkwardness that comes with not speaking to someone for three weeks. 

"Dylan? Are you okay?" 

He looks up sharply at the sound of my words. Hurriedly, he wipes away the tears and paints on a smile. 

"Yep. Totally fine." he chokes a little bit on "fine". 

"Hm." I say, sitting down next to him. "Something makes me not believe you."

Dylan does his iconic avoidance routine: the lack of eye contact and conviction in his voice gives it away. "I'm fine." 

"Welp, okay, how did your mocks go?"

He remains silent. 

"Ah, okie, let's not talk about  _ that _ then. You-" 

"Hey!" it's a scrawny little year 8, trying to act tough. He fails. "Are you gonna kiss her or something?" 

I don't  _ really _ know how, but I find myself standing up, the kid held up by his collar and pushed against the wall, my arm across his throat. Mr Richardson's going to have a field day giving me a lecture on "appropriate behaviour" when the kid runs to him, rattling on me. 

"Those aren't his pronouns." I find myself snarling, my voice surprisingly far deeper than usual. 

The kid whimpers, so I let him go. "Don't do it again." I call after his silhouette, running away from me as fast as his short little legs can take him. 

"You shouldn't have done that." Dylan tells me when I sit back down next to him. "It's not that big of a deal." 

"It is to me." Dylan rolls his eyes. "And anyway, I wanted an excuse to rough that prick up a bit." 

"Yeah, but still." he looks up. "What happened to your shirt?"

I glance down. It's still slightly blood splattered . "Nothing. Just paint."

"Okay." He continues to stare at my shirt for a moment. 

The moment stretches, becoming longer and longer and longer. Up above our heads, the wind tears through the trees in waves, coming and going as it pleases, the cold breeze occasionally ruffling Dylan's hair a little. A thin trail of ants march across the concrete, walking towards the field from a crack in the pavement. Colours seem to mesh together, and the awkwardness had faded away, now replaced with - 

"My mum,..." 

I turn to Dylan, who had gone back to staring at the ground. 

"She didn't, she wouldn't sign the form for the, yknow, blockers. And my dad-"

"She f*cking what? Even after we made her cake as well! That b*tch-" 

"Oi! Stop interrupting me and just  _ listen _ for God's sake." he snaps. 

"Sorry." Dylan glares at me. I raise my palms. "I swear I won't interrupt you again." 

So, Dylan talks. He tells me a heck ton about his parents are, to put it bluntly, sh*tty, as they didn't fully support him, and how he has to use his dead name, as it's still his legal name, on exam papers, and how is brother is a got, or at least acting like one.

"If it makes you feel any better," I say, once Dylan is done talking. "my brother is also a git." 

Dylan laughs, and it's nice to see him smile again: he hadn't done that in a while, I realise. 

"Do you remember that time your brother gave me a huge bruise when he kicked me?" 

"You're still bitter about that?" I ask him. "Wasn't that back in Year 6?"

"It was painful!" he protests, punching my arm to punctuate his point. 

I move to punch him back, but he's up and away, running down the path. 

"Race you to the gate!" he calls back behind him. 

"Hey! No fair!" I say as I start chasing after him. "You have a head start!" 

He glances back and laughs at me. Of course, he reaches the gate first, but I  _ nearly _ beat him.  _ Nearly _ . 

We're laughing, between gasps of breath at how ridiculous we are, how horrendously out of shape we are, how insane we look. Eventually, the laughter dries up. We're at the gate after all, and we have to go our separate ways now. 

"So…" I say. 

"So." Dylan repeats. I laugh. 

"Do you want to come back to my place to watch Avengers? Like old times?" 

For a moment, I'm tempted, but the envelope burns a hole into my back, my parents' Stern warning repeating in my head, and my brother's prying eyes telling me to say no, to go home. 

"Sorry, I can't. Maybe next time?" Dylan nods. 

It's awkward now. We're stuck, someone needs to say goodbye first.

So, I punch him. 

"Bye, Dy!" I run. 

In the wrong direction. 

Dylan laughs his head off as I turn around, face burning, and walk back in the right direction.

"See you on Monday!" I wave to him as I pass him in the street. 

"See you then." he waves. And smiles. 

Clutching my umbrella in my hand, I plug in my headphones, scroll through my music and tap on one of them. Turning up the volume, I walk towards my bus stop. 

*

_ Where are you now?  _

_ How long until you're here? _

I sighed and cleared the screen, not wanting to reply to my dad's texts now: I don't want to officiate the ending of the trip just yet. I glanced over at  _ him _ , who was seated a few seats away from me. 

He was gazing out of the window, earphones plugged in as the girl next to him talked nonstop to someone just out of my line of sight. He seemed happy enough, a fact I was glad to see. 

Familiar landmarks passed by the window, and I wondered what he was thinking about. My teacher leaned over and asked if I've already let my parents know that we would be arriving soon. Patronising much? Regardless, I let the teacher know that I already had and go back to staring out of the window. 

I tapped a vague "be there in ten" and tried not to think too much about him. 

When we get there, my dad was there, waiting for me. I glanced back at  _ him _ : he had gotten off the coach after me. He was asking his teacher where the closest Metro station was. 

He turned, his back faced towards me, and started walking away, presumably to the Metro station. 

The image of his lonesome silhouette walking away burned into my eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the penultimate chapter, peeps.
> 
> Sorry about the second half being quite short, but not much really happens, so sorry not sorry? 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! 😊  
> -MoonRenegade


	8. Chapter 8

I wish I could just lie down: today was particularly sh*tty. 

I mean. It's normally pretty sh*tty as it is, but today seems worse, somehow. Probably just the mocks results, to be fair. 

This part wasn't too bad: I'm in limbo between one hell and another, school and home. It gives me time to think, at least. 

I find myself staring at the calendar app on my phone, but I already know the answer to the question forming in my mind. It's been nearly a month, just 20 minutes off, if you _really_ want to be specific, since I last saw _him_. 

A notification causes my phone to buzz: it's Sahill, wishing me a happy birthday. Swiping away the notification, I pout, just a little bit. I had hoped it was _him,_ not Sahill, that had forgotten about my birthday and hurriedly sent me a text in an attempt to make up for it. 

A bus, not my bus, comes to a stop at my bus stop, about half a street away from where I am, and opens its doors, presumably to let someone off. I keep my eyes down and just turn up the volume again, not wanting to make awkward eye contact with whoever got off of the bus. 

It's my favorite song. It's from an old video game I really like: Interrupted by Fireworks from Final Fantasy VII. It's not really a blastable song, but I really don't care. 

I could've sworn I heard my name, but it's probably just the song: some songs are like that, aren't they? I don't really know why I like the song so much. Maybe it's because the song feels like a promise? 'You will be okay' kinda vibe, I guess. I don't know: I just like it. 

There's someone at the bus stop, and I'm tempted to just turn around and walk back the way I came and avoid them-

I swallow down the anxiety and just keep walking. The person is staring down at their phone: they seem a bit nervous, actually. 

I glue my eyes to the floor and just keep walking. It's not any of my business. The closer I get to the person, the more familiar they seem. 

He looks up. 

There's no mistaking it. He may not have his red and blue flannel on, it had been replaced by a blazer with his school's logo on it, but it was definitely him. 

"Dan?" 

"Phil?" 

I can't help but smile. He's here! He hadn't texted me, and I hadn't seen him in nearly a month, but he was _here_. He stands up sharply. 

"What are you doing here?" I laugh at him. 

"Happy birthday!" he flaps his arms around a little as if he wants to hug me, but isn't fully sure about it. 

My phone buzzes in my hand. It's the reminder I had set telling me that it had been a month since the university trip and that I should give up hope on him. 

I glance up to look at him. 

"What is it?" he asks. 

"Nothing." I say, putting my phone away in my pocket. I open up my arms for a hug. "C'mere."

He smiles, nervousness finally banished, and hugs me. 

"I thought I wasn't going to make it." he says into my shoulder. 

"You know you could've just texted me, right?" 

"I couldn't," he steps back from the hug. "because _you_ gave me the wrong number."

"Oh, I'm so sorry about-" 

"You gave me Sahill's…" he laughs again. "He helped me arrange this, too." 

That must be why he had been texting me so much.

At some point in the hug, we had joined hands, and, for some reason, they were still together. I'm not complaining: this is nice. 

"Long distance friendships never work."

"This works for me." I tell him, trying to keep the whiny and desperate _pleasedon'tleaveme_ out of my voice.

He smiles. "This works for me, too." 

We stay like that for a moment, and it's probably the happiest I've ever been. I wish I could bottle up this emotion and keep it, forever. 

"Anyway, yeah." he said, nervousness evidently returning. "I came to see you because I wanted to tell you happy birthday in person-" 

"Thank you for that."

He smiles, briefly. I quickly brush my thumb across his knuckles. It's apparently a comforting gesture? I don't really know, but some of his anxiety seems to have been alleviated. 

"Yeah, and em. I also wanted to tell you that I like y-" 

*

I jolt awake with tears streaming down my face. Burying my head in my pillow, I let the tears flow. It's the same dream, over and over. He visits me, and can never say the words I want to hear above anything. 

Everything is still. Sunlight is already pouring through my window: I had forgotten to close my curtains last night. My alarm clock will probably go off soon, telling me to get up and off to work. But for now, I lay here in the precious fragile mood that the dream always leaves me in. 

I drape my arm over my eyes and just listen to the birds outside for a bit. It's a couple of coal tits. You can tell. They're always very loud and high pitched. 

I sigh. He's never going to visit. I know that. I just wish… 

I don't know. 

_You could go, though._ The little voice in my head says. For once, they're being helpful. 

As if a switch had been pressed, I found myself out of bed, dressed, my work place's phone number dialling on my phone. I say something about being ill and unable to come in to work today in my best sick voice. 

Grabbing a backpack, I start stuffing it with some things I might need. Lunch, keys, phone, coffee, etc. I scribble down a note to my mum telling her about going out, not saying when I'll be back, something I know she hates me doing. 

Without looking back, I walk out the door and head to the nearest Metro Station. I had already looked up the route online so I should be in his town in under an hour. 

In the end, I miss my bus stop, get the wrong Metro and have to faff around to get back to my original stop, by which point had become a lot more crowded due to rush hour, before I finally arrive at the old station with his home town's name on all of the signs. 

Taking a brief moment to look around, a pang of nostalgia attacks my lungs and heart. When I was younger, we had come here quite regularly for the Saturday and Sunday flea market, usually preceded with ice cream, retro sweets, and rock pooling. 

It brings back good memories. 

I shake my head and try to clear my thoughts as not to get distracted. With determination powering my stride, I step out of the nearly empty Metro Station and into _his_ turf. 

_Wait for me, I promise I'm coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the dream trope is overused, but please forgive me? I really wanted to write that scene, but *not* have it affect the plot too much.
> 
> Anyway, it's the end of this story now, so thank you a heck ton for making it so far! 😊 
> 
> If you liked the story, please let me know in the comments. 😊 
> 
> -MoonRenegade
> 
> Edit: if anyone's interested, a sequel is coming on Sunday the 1st of September, 2019. (probably, it might be a bit late, knowing me. 😅)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic! Aaashdhdjeo- who let this happeennnnn  
> Anyway, enjoy the fluff! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! 😊


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